


burden

by santanico



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail Hobbs has a footing on Hannibal Lecter's manipulation. Her talents of planning and perception far exceed the expectations of a serial killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	burden

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Talk of cannibalism and murder.
> 
> Non-sexual

Hannibal Lecter knows better than to involve himself in the lives of teenage girls. Abigail Hobbs does not inspire him, does not cause him to relish – she’s a girl with a shattered heart and tension throbbing in her veins.

She’s pushy; desperate; needy, perhaps. He never voices his concerns but the quick flutter of her eyelashes tells him everything he needs to know. Abigail Hobbs weighs on him, with her thin mouth and her echoing eyes, how she frowns just to prove she can, looks down and lets her shoulders slump.

He watches as she curls up on his couch, folds her knees to her chest. She’s still wearing her boots, an old pair of lace-ups from hunting with her father, but she doesn’t seem to care about upholstery or cleanliness. She stares at Hannibal, blinking three times in a row, her mouth curled in something similar to a grimace. 

“You knew my father, didn’t you?”

“I knew enough about your father to feel as though I knew him.”

Abigail hums. “You’ve known since the start, right? Saw right through me.”

He doesn’t answer, watching as she rubs her hands over her thin calves. She refuses to look him in the eye, her gaze faltering and stunned as she glances over the room.

“Known what, Abigail?”

She turns a sneer on him. Or maybe, what would be a sneer on anyone else. On Abigail it’s wild, full of menace and something close to hatred. Too harsh to be a sneer for Abigail’s piercing eyes. Like she’s trying to mimic someone, imitate their cruel mannerisms.

“I already confessed to you once, do I have to do it again?”

She doesn’t want him; not in the same way he wants her. Which is quiet, compliant, walking thin and careful lines without every crossing a toe to the wrong side. Teenagers are difficult like that, never sure what they’re capable of and never willing to keep it under wraps once they find out. Abigail Hobbs knows that she’s capable of offhand murder, that she can help bury and uncover a body and then lie about it, convincing psychiatrists and police men alike of her innocence.

Her eyes waver. “Never mind,” she snaps. Hannibal begins to wonder if she believes that she’s innocent. Perhaps, despite all the self-deprecation, Abigail does not blame herself.

He steps forward, drops to his knees in front of her on the couch. Abigail turns to look at him, makes her first bit of straight eye contact. They stare at each other, both of their mouths slightly agape. She is gauging him, similarly to the way he gauges her. A war waged against each other, both fighting for dominance in this chaos. 

Hannibal is afraid of what will happen when Abigail finally unleashes everything within her. Her cups her face, touches their foreheads together. He waits, and Abigail finally closes her eyes. She touches his wrists with her thin, shaky fingers, and whispers, “Are you frightened?”

“Why would I be frightened?”

“Because you’re a murderer. And murderers get caught.”

He hums pleasantly; perhaps too much so. “Are _you_ frightened?” he counters. 

“Not at all.”

Her heart rate doesn’t pick up but he knows she’s lying. He’s too close for her not to be lying, but her breath remains consistent. 

“You should be.” He remembers Franklin’s neck, how it had snapped under the pressure of his own strong hands. Franklin, of course, had simply been collateral damage. Tobias too, in many ways. He wants to make Abigail work in his favor, he wants to use her so he won’t have to eat her. Like a little bird, trapped in his grasp.

“I know better than to be afraid of cowards,” Abigail whispers, voice hoarse. She grips his wrists and opens her eyes, and he looks at her. “I know you’re using me. I know I’m your bait. Your way…your way to win all of your mind games.”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow. She perceives things he did not even realize were perceptible. Impressive.

“You’re gonna lose.”

“You’re saying that to a man you’re almost positive eats people.”

“I am positive. I’ve seen the meat.”

He doesn’t respond, letting a breath out through his mouth. It scatters on her jaw and she leans back.

He lets go of her face. “You can’t have what you want.”

“And what’s that? Since you know me so well.” Her tender voice stinks of sarcasm. She’s fighting back against him, aggression and rage that she’s kept pent up since her father started murdering girls who resembled her. What a toll that must have on such a young girl.

He stands up straight. “We are not partners.”

“You told me to bury a man I had killed. You joined me in crime.”

He blinks, nods slowly. This time there isn’t a choice. He’s quiet. He waits.

Abigail eventually looks away. “There’s no point in me staying here.” She stands up, wipes her hands on her jeans, walks evenly out of the vast living room. “Don’t worry about me, alright? You’ll know if I tattle.”

Does she realize she’s taunting a serial killer? he ponders.

Probably.

He smiles – Abigail is learning how to play God.

She saunters out of his house, leaving him behind to cook in dismay, and allow his own personal fears to simmer.

He could be dead by the morning.


End file.
